(More than) Fourinarow.net

So.  My sister called today.  She was in the car with one of hers, on the way to an appointment.  And I was home with all of mine, trying to shove food into everyone at 4 p.m. so we could make it to karate on time and not starve while there.

As my sister and I discussed the various things that ail us, the kids mostly finished eating and then went onto other things.  Within minutes, Luke yelled at me that he was “finished”.  (For any non-moms or dads here, this translates to:  “I’m done pooping; come wipe me up. RIGHT NOW.”)  Before I could get to him, though, Jack hollered at me from upstairs.  Of course, I couldn’t hear a thing he was saying, as I was still trying to talk to my sister on the phone, Luke was yelling at me to hurry up, and Sam was banging around in the kitchen.  I headed toward the stairs to find out what Jack wanted and was then going to get Lukie situated (Yes.  While talking on the phone.  My sister has small children.  She gets it.) when suddenly loud screaming came from the kitchen.  The hurt kind of loud screaming.

Phone in hand, I ran to see what had happened to Sam.  I looked at him (and only after I saw blood) I told my sis I’d have to call her back.  Poor Sam had fallen off of one of our table benches, which he had pushed over to the fridge so he could play with the magnets.  He must have smacked his chin on the way down because he had bitten the inside of his bottom lip – pretty deeply.  After some consolation (which consisted of some pats on the back while he transferred the blood from his mouth onto my shirt) I wiped out his mouth and took a closer look.  Yep.  Perfect teeth marks right in the middle of that bottom lip.  Ouch.  I gave my poor baby an ice pack, despite knowing that the novelty would wear off before it could do any good, and went off to take care of my other sons.

Somehow, despite all the drama, we managed to arrive on time for Luke’s karate class 45 minutes later.  Luke went in and the rest of us parked ourselves in the hallway outside the classroom. We managed to hold it together for the duration of Lukie’s class.  By the time Jack’s class was underway, however, things began to deteriorate.  Lukie sat playing the Leapster, but was continually frustrated and wanted me to help him.  When I refused, he turned red and screamed in frustration.  When I did try to help, I did the wrong thing and he turned red and screamed in frustration.  This led to a timeout on the bench and no more Leapster.

Great.  Only 49 minutes to go.

Maria found a friend and they alternated between running up and down the hallway (despite repeatedly being told not to by myself and the other child’s mother), watching a tennis practice and watching karate.  They also made several trips to the water/ice machine.  Which, of course, ended in wet shirts, a few tears, a wet hallway and whining from other children who didn’t get any water, but desperately needed some because they were DYING of thirst.

Luke was finally allowed out of timeout, but wasn’t allowed to have the Leapster back.  Instead, I gave him a book and Tag pen and he sat quietly reading for the rest of the evening.  (Once he did ask for some help, but I pretended I didn’t hear him and backed slowly away).

Sam, who got tired of trying to break into karate class, decided to play with the girls.  For a short time, about one second, everyone was entertained.  Then, down the hall, there was a thump, and an “OH!” from a witness and Sam, turning purple, because he WILL NOT take a breath when he first starts to cry.  Finally, on the verge of passing out, he took his breath and wailed.  He had tripped and smacked his chin on the corner of the metal window frame to the karate room.  More blood, different shirt.  (I guess I shouldn’t have changed earlier, but I was worried about what the other parents would think when I came to karate class, herding my four ragamuffins with blood on my clothes.  This is why I dress in mommy clothes and Stacey and Clinton would never be able to change me.)

In fairly short order, I got Sam calmed down and put a bandaid on his chin.  He then marched proudly around showing it off to anyone that would look, basking in the “poor baby”s he received.

Then, FINALLY.  FINALLY, Jack’s class was over.

(Sorry, Sis, for not getting back to you.)